


Dynamite with a Laser Beam

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [13]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aliases, Canon Non-Binary Character, Case Fic, Fake Marriage, Heist, Heist fic, Juno Steel is stupid hot because I say so and it's what he deserves, Kissing, Making Out, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Nureyev thinks he's pretty as a plot point, Other, Some Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, if you count theft, only a Noir AU in that it has that vibe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Juno was a bombshell. He looked fearsome in the way an iridescent glint off the back of a black snake was beauty and terror in equal measure. The red around his lips looked like a bloodstain around the mouth of a predator, though neat and matte and doing an embarrassing number on Nureyev’s focus as he whispered something about the deal into his ear.As much as Peter wanted to think about the mission, thinking about his feigned wife was so much nicer.(Free!) Commission for @navyblueart on tumblr!!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 19
Kudos: 140





	Dynamite with a Laser Beam

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a hell of a way to introduce my new batch of commissions, which are still open!!
> 
> Title from Killer Queen 
> 
> Content warnings for guns, knives, threats (no actual violence), smoking mention, blood mention, implied sexual content

Peter Nureyev had done enough deals in private rooms in bars that liked to think of themselves as lounges to know this mission’s song and dance already. 

He knew the walls would ooze with a dark green and the velvet cushions on faux-expensive seats would drip crimson red. He didn’t have to inhale to know the air would be thick with perfumed smoke, nor that the faintest whiff of perfume or cologne would choke through the room like a lover’s manicured hand tilting one’s chin up for an ever more breathtaking kiss.

The room suffocated under the reek of a non-addictive cigar or two, which gave Nureyev all he needed to know about the prospective buyer. He was rich enough to kill his lungs for sport, if Peter had placed the scent right. Even with the smoldering flames stamped out into a little circular burn across the other end of the stretching, dark oak table, the smoke still coiled up and away. 

“Sit,” the buyer, a ratlike man with greasy eyes and a thick mustache insisted. 

“I’ll stand, thanks,” Juno, the lady on Nureyev’s arm whose fake wedding band matched his own, shot back.

“My apologies,” Nureyev smiled, sharing a quick glance with Juno as he sidled into the red velvet chair the buyer had gestured at. “My Rosalind prefers the ability to pace.”

“Orlando,” Juno groaned, having paused for just a moment to ensure the alias came to his tongue in place of Nureyev’s name. Peter merely laughed, walking a steady line between businesslike and affectionate. 

“I just want you to rest your feet at some point, this evening,” Nureyev continued, the old domesticity he had learned and practiced and pretended not to be invested in for Duke Rose wrapping around him like a fur around the shoulders of a starlet. “I just worry about you, my dear. Those shoes are far from kind.”

Juno snorted. 

“Yours are worse,” he shrugged, though a coy little smile crossed his face when he sat on the arm of Nureyev’s chair. “If you’re that worried, I might as well take a seat right here.”

“Madame Leblanc,” the buyer protested. 

“You got a problem?” Juno demanded, his blood-red lips curling into a sneer. “I thought you wanted me to sit.”

The buyer’s mouth shut.

“Why don’t we get to business?” Nureyev prompted before Juno could pull any of his weaponry too quickly. 

Nureyev couldn’t blame the buyer for clamming up when Juno, or rather, Madame Rosalind Leblanc, fixed him with that icy glare. Peter was long since accustomed to his clever eyes and the quick twitch of his finger or wrist to send a weapon flying in just the right direction. He knew well the lady lounging on the arm of his chair was not one to be trifled with, though this instance in particular saw him wearing danger with all the ease of that string of pearls around his throat. 

Juno was a bombshell. He looked fearsome in the way an iridescent glint off the back of a black snake was beauty and terror in equal measure. The red around his lips looked like a bloodstain around the mouth of a predator, though neat and matte and doing an embarrassing number on Nureyev’s focus as he whispered something about the deal into his ear. 

As much as Peter wanted to think about the mission, thinking about Orlando Leblanc’s wife was so much nicer. 

He couldn’t blame his distraction on himself, of course, nor could he pin the fault on Buddy for suggesting that dress, a red number that did an astounding amount of damage to Nureyev’s focus per inch of fabric, especially given that there weren’t too many inches of fabric to begin with. 

Of course, now was when Juno decided to sit on the edge of his chair like a throne, knees crossed and gaze haughty and grumbled comments landing right against Nureyev’s neck. 

“And what do you think of my offer, Mister Leblanc?” the buyer pressed. 

Nureyev blinked. 

“Why just ask him, huh?” Juno shot back, though his lips quavered as if trying to hide a laugh. “Isn’t there someone you’re leaving out here?”

“I scheduled the meeting with Mister Leblanc,” the buyer replied slowly. “I was not told there would be two of you.” 

“My Rosalind hates to feel unincluded,” Nureyev chuckled, though it fell away with the buyer’s dark look.

“The real reason, if you don’t mind,” the buyer snapped. 

Nureyev glared, taking a moment’s pause to school his expression.

“My apologies, sir, but you seem to have forgotten with whom exactly you are dealing,” Nureyev continued when he was able to tear his mind and eyes and total focus away from just how pretty those pearls looked teasing against Juno’s throat. “My wife and I don’t exactly walk the line of the law, so do forgive me if I prefer to have my bodyguard accompanying me.” 

“Were you even listening to my proposition, Mister Leblanc?” The buyer demanded. 

Nureyev opened his mouth to reply, but that well-loved look of righteous indignance slashed across Juno’s face before he could do much more than look offended. 

“Excuse me?” Juno demanded. “That’s my husband you’re talking to.” 

“And your husband wasn’t listening,” the buyer hissed. “If all of your people behave like this, we might not have a deal at all.” 

Juno glared, clearly wrestling his voice down from the octave it wanted to jump to. 

“Rosalind, darling, let’s be civil,” Nureyev chortled, though he matched the buyer’s smoldering expression with one of his own. 

Juno scoffed, but was quieted with a squeeze of the wrist. 

“As I was saying, I’m afraid I was merely bored of having my time wasted,” Nureyev insisted. “I’m no particular proponent of plans that could end up with either myself or my dearest killed. I would rather you suggest more neutral ground for the sale or forget the deal altogether.” 

Nureyev narrowed his eyes when the buyer’s face went white. He flicked his gaze after the buyer’s, only to find it resting upon Juno’s upper thigh. More specifically, the dagger strapped there. 

Juno’s fingers, manicured to hell and back with bloody, gem-encrusted claws of press on nails, tugged back an already short skirt. One finger drummed against the blade of a wicked, nine inch knife all the way up, while his face twisted into the prettiest snarl Nureyev ever had the luck of laying his eyes upon. 

“What terms do you want to set?” The buyer choked. 

“Lovely,” Nureyev beamed, hoping his smile looked half as dangerous as his wife and bodyguard and partner in crime, back to draping himself over the back of his chair. “Now that we’re all on proper terms, I was hoping we might meet at this time, date, and location. Rosalind, if you’d be so kind?” 

Juno reached into the top of his dress and produced a piece of paper on which Nureyev’s looping scrawl listed exactly where Buddy intended to make the sale. 

“You’ll meet our contact there, if that’s fine by you,” Nureyev continued, tapping a finger on the address. 

“Contact?” The buyer sputtered.

“This meeting’s been twice as long as it needed to be,” Juno huffed. “Yeah. Contact. Got a problem with that?”

“Maybe I do. Why didn’t I hear about this contact before?” The buyer demanded. 

“You’re going to buy our shit at that time on that date in that place, or you’re not gonna get our shit, okay?” Juno snapped. 

“Rosalind, darling—“

Nureyev felt his breath catch in his throat when Juno whipped out the blaster strapped to his other leg, pulsing in vicious cyan against the smoke-thick air of the room. The buyer froze halfway to drawing his own weapon when he caught that blue light flickering back on Juno’s face. He looked like an angel as much as he looked like a predator. Either way Nureyev’s pulse doubled in his chest. 

Nureyev wasn’t sure when he stood, but he knew for certain he was on his feet when Juno started talking, or else he would not have realized how weak his knees had gone. 

“If you don’t wanna make your next deal with the fish in that river downtown, I think you’re gonna wanna take this deal,” Juno snarled.

The buyer managed a frantic nod. 

“You’re going to have the exact amount of money we asked for ready for transfer, and you’re gonna be there on time. Hell, you’re gonna be early,” Juno continued. “And if you don’t like the way your feet look in concrete shoes, you’re gonna deal with our contact.” 

“I can do that,” the buyer choked. 

“You’re gonna show up alone and unarmed, right?” Juno pressed, a vicious look tearing his face in two when the buyer gave an affirmative nod. “And now you’re gonna shake my husband’s hand.” 

Juno was magnetic, seeming to pull Nureyev’s face into a haughty smile as well. 

“Excuse me?” The buyer demanded. 

“Quit being an asshole,” Juno snapped, straightening his gun. 

Nureyev leaned forward, ensuring to dig his nails in a little too tight when the buyer shook his hand across that dark, voidic table. 

“I think we have a deal, then,” Nureyev chuckled. “Come now, Rosalind. I’m afraid we wasted far too much time tonight.” 

Juno took him by the arm before Nureyev could spew anymore memorized niceties. He caught sight of the buyer seething over his shoulder, though, when Juno raised his skirt to put the blaster away and revealed a second knife, he melted back into pale-faced fear. 

Juno did Nureyev the kindness of waiting until they had found some alley to catch their breath in to start laughing at him. 

“What?” Nureyev demanded. 

“What the hell was that?” Juno wheezed.

“I—“ Nureyev sputtered. “You weren’t trying to distract me, were you?”

“Hell of an accusation,” Juno snorted, his back hitting the brick wall behind him with a huff. 

The light from the city existed in black and white, with no familiar orange or magenta or cyan of any city Nureyev had seen before. In the dusk, the flickering gray of a nearby street lamp crept across Juno’s face, sharpening his jawline and making the red curve of his lips stick out like a bloodstain on a new white suit. 

He had been beautiful as Rosalind Leblanc, wielding two knives and a tongue sharper than either, but he was nothing in comparison to Juno Steel. Juno didn’t sneer so much as he smiled, as soft as a candle on a cold night. It was a little piece of a blazing wildfire, domesticated just for Nureyev. 

His posture slumped, but that smile bloomed in the dusky light, as if a moment of fresh, albeit hazy city air had been enough to lift a thousand years of turmoil off of him. He seemed happier, just hunched in an alleyway and breathing with the man who had pretended to be his husband. 

“Was I distracting you?” Juno pressed after a moment, as whatever soft feeling overwhelming Nureyev took a sudden dip into the playfully sour.

“I would even say you were doing so on purpose. You could have pulled that knife any other way,” Nureyev huffed. “Instead, you had to compromise the mission just for the sake of—“

“Quit it,” Juno snorted. 

He paced away from the wall in three even strides, one hand wrapping those clawlike acrylics around his Nureyev’s while the other hand began to run up and down his suspenders. Nureyev was finding it increasingly difficult not to close that devilishly short distance between their lips and see what color two matte lipsticks became when smeared together. 

“Quit what?” Nureyev pressed, trying to keep his voice from betraying the traitorous doubling of his pulse. 

“Pretending to be mad at me. You’re a good actor, Nureyev, but—“ 

All it took was one lazy tug on Nureyev’s tie for Peter to crack, condition of his makeup be damned. From the sound Juno made when their lips and hips and arms collided, Juno didn’t much care either. 

Nureyev would have rather been kissed anywhere but against a hard and cold and scratchy wall, especially in the kind of alley that even dumpsters would want to avoid. However, it was hard to care with Juno Steel pressing him there and worshipping at his lips like an altar. 

“Feeling better?” Juno breathed when he pulled away. Nureyev didn’t miss how blown his pupil was, and felt his face pull into a grin in response. 

“Higher functioning,” Nureyev chuckled. 

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you. I’m not gonna cover for you every time your eyes get lost,” Juno teased, hand still tugging on Nureyev’s tie as he made his way towards the mouth of the alley. 

“I know, dear,” Nureyev sighed, huffing out his disappointment as blatantly as possible. 

“What?”

“Just one kiss, really? Your dearest, darling husband gets threatened, and you—why are you laughing?” Nureyev pretended to be annoyed. 

“You’re insufferable,” Juno chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you later. We’re late enough already.” 

When they piled back into the Ruby 7, Nureyev hid his face for long enough to do away with the tornado of scarlet and purple making a messy bruise of his mouth. Juno, on the other hand, wore his like a crown, even if he earned an eye roll or two for it.

Nureyev had a tendency to spend a week mulling over a mistake if he tripped up on a heist. However, he found his mind lazy and complacent that night, far too willing to keep his eye meandering over the dip of Juno’s collar or the lines of his neck or the drumming of his nails on the faux-leather seats. He supposed a goddess had come to save him that night, in one way or another. 

Even if the back seat of the Ruby 7 saw them doing little more than touching legs, Nureyev made a mental note to prove himself in worship to that goddess at a later date.

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo!! Ive spent MONTHS trying to find a fic to match this specific title to. Regardless I knew it had to be an ode to juno because objectively. he pretty and we dont talk about that enough. i just think nureyev oughta have the chance to be utterly smitten. yknow. gets a little too into the domesticity act
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or I'll think mean thoughts
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !! My free commissions (that's right!! COMPLETELY FREE) are back open again, and I'd love to take some more :D


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